


Science and Conviction

by sinkingsidewalks



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 4x15 Tag, 4x15 spoilers, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkingsidewalks/pseuds/sinkingsidewalks
Summary: "That’s good, Daisy only just manages to think. Simmons sounds more like Simmons at least; controlled and in control. Not the helpless, dark creature she found in the basement, covered in robot Fitz’s blood. Synthetic blood, obviously, but still blood."BFF's patching each other up, literally and emotionally.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another 4x15: Self Control fill in, I don't doubt that this will be the end of it either. I'm so intrigued by the fallout that this is going to cause. Daisy's perspective this time though. This one doesn't quite line up with the one I wrote yesterday so it can't actually be considered a continuation but if you want more of Jemma's thoughts check out 'she killed him'.  
> Obviously, spoilers for 4x15: Self Control.

It takes all of Daisy’s lingering effort to reach out and take Jemma’s offered fingers. Even then she only manages to hold onto them for a few seconds, long enough for them to get up into sustained flight, before her strength tapers off and her hand falls back down to her side. 

Her vision swims, the dark edges clouding inwards, attempting to rip her hard earned consciousness from her. She tries harder to focus, to cling, but just like with Simmons’ hand, her grip is slipping. The weight on her chest presses in deeper, the ache in her shoulder, her calf, wandering away as her mind fades. 

As her vision goes her hearing amplifies. The dull thrum of the engine builds up to a roar in her ears, the quiet voices of the other agents might as well have been yells. The clang of Simmons’ seatbelt undoing, metal against metal, makes her flinch. A cool hand presses into her cheek, it shudders only slightly, an echo of how her powers fluctuate through her own bones. 

“Help me get her to the med bay, she’s lost a lot of blood.”

That’s good, Daisy only just manages to think. Simmons sounds more like Simmons at least; controlled and in control. Not the helpless, dark creature she found in the basement, covered in robot Fitz’s blood. Synthetic blood, obviously, but still blood. 

Two arms wrap around her waist and pull her up from the seat. The head rush doesn’t help her tenuous grip on her consciousness. Everything wavers.

Simmons’ arm is warm around her though, as is that of the other agent as they drag her through the interior of the aircraft. She tries to make her feet cooperate, to make herself more than just dead weight, but she only barely manages. Before she knows it she’s being set into another chair. 

“Daisy?” Jemma’s calm and careful ‘doctor’ voice prods into her awareness. “Can you hear me, Daisy?”

Sudden pressure against her shoulder, against the wound, brings back the burn of the bullet, makes her want to cry out. She grits her teeth against the pain. 

“Mhm,” her eyes flutter open and her gaze catches the edge of Jemma’s cheekbone. “’m fine.”

Daisy doesn’t miss Jemma’s low affectionate scoff as another hand presses pain down, this time around her calf. She can’t help the low groan that slips through her teeth. This part always hurts more than actually getting shot. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Simmons moves off now, but the pressure remains, it must be the other agent, the one whose name she should definitely learn, considering she just saved their asses. Daisy gives her an attempt of a smile, tries to mouth ‘thanks’ but can’t quite. Her vision is filtering back in now, the pain is somewhat defining, and she considers that a good thing even if it means it hurts more. She can’t be out, there’s still work to be done.

Then Jemma is back, rucking up the sleeve of her battered sweater and swabbing over her inner elbow. It’s cold and wet and she flinches away from it. She knows what’s coming next. 

“Just a little transfusion and you’ll be good to go.” She says to Daisy, then to the other agent, “Has that bleeding stopped yet?”

The pressure eases off and Daisy’s next breath sighs its way through her lungs. 

“Just about.”

“Good then.” Under the cheery falseness of Jemma’s tone her voice is hollow, broken down, carved out. 

A needle slips under her skin and Daisy winces, she hates the tug against her veins.

She feels Simmons turn away again. It takes two deep breaths, pulling the air to the bottom of her lungs, before she works up the energy to speak. 

“Just blood.”

“Daisy-“ 

“No drugs. You know-“ she needs another deep breath, “You know the painkillers make me sleepy.”

There’s a sigh, then something trickles through the IV line into her arm. She’s fairly confident that it’s only her own O negative – they keep blood stores for all the inhuman agents on the Zephyr - filtering back into her veins, Jemma wouldn’t give her anything she didn’t ask for.

The pressure eases off her wounds again and she watches the other agent shift away, melting back into the corner of the room as Simmons waves her off. 

“At least let me numb the area while I stitch.”

Daisy groans a little as Jemma roots around the literal hole in her shoulder. “Fine.”

Another needle presses in, she makes a face but its better once she can only barely feel Simmons’ tweezers in her flesh. 

“You’re lucky, the bullet missed everything, suprascapular artery, thoracoacromial artery, the costocervical trunk. If it had hit any of those you’d have been dead within minutes.” Simmons digs further into the muscle, checking for any bullet fragments left behind. 

“They wanted me disabled, not dead,” Daisy grits. She’s already feeling better though, the breath comes more easily to her lungs, the blackness edging into her vision has receded, her fingers have lost that dull tingle. 

“Yes I suppose, so they could upload you.” Jemma’s voice is in what Daisy quietly refers to as ‘ooh science neat’ mode, which is where she goes when she has to focus beyond her emotions.

“Yeah, to all those creepy me-bodies.” She shudders, coming face to face with that many, well, hers, was nightmarish. The thought of the damage all those LMD’s could do trickles ice through her veins. 

“But they didn’t, didn’t get either of our minds.” Jemma smiles. 

Her capacity for false hope amazes Daisy. 

“Yeah.” Her own optimism isn’t quite as solid. She lets Simmons work in silence until the tugging of stiches starts pulling across her skin. 

“Hey,” she catches Jemma’s wrist as it falls down to her side, two fingers against the other girl’s pulse. “Are you okay?” They both stutter through their breaths. “I mean, with Fitz- that couldn’t have been-“

“It wasn’t him.” The words fall out in a rush, like she’s trying to convince herself rather than Daisy. 

“Hey, no, I know.” Jemma refocuses on the wound and Daisy doesn’t try to pull her attention away from it. “It’s just that, I mean, it looked like Fitz, talked like Fitz, right?”

Daisy watches Jemma’s chest shudder in the echo of her earlier sobs and her teeth sink into her bottom lip to quit its wavering. She’s quiet for long enough, working intently on sewing Daisy back together with tiny stitches, that Daisy thinks she might not talk.

“But it wasn’t him.” Her voice wouldn’t be audible if her lips weren’t inches away from Daisy’s ear. A lone tear slips down her cheek and she wipes it away with the inside of her wrist, above where the glove covers her skin. 

There’s another stretch of silence where Jemma finishes up her stitches, pastes a salve over the area, and bandages it up neatly. Then she stands there, not moving to repeat the process on the other unwanted break in Daisy’s skin. 

“He begged me,” her breathing hitches and Daisy takes her hand, squeezes it gently. “Begged me to stop, pleaded my name.” A sob works its way up through her chest and Daisy watches her try and fail to tamp it down. 

“And I just didn’t, I didn’t stop. I-“ Jemma’s throat catches, her face crumbles along with her carefully constructed calm.

“It’s okay.” Daisy whispers, “It’s okay, you did the right thing.”

Jemma’s head falls, face pressing into the uninjured part of Daisy’s shoulder and neck. Daisy feels the tears slip against her skin as Jemma’s body rattles. 

“It’s okay.” She says again, her uninjured arm coming up to wrap around Jemma’s waist, to pull them closer together. “He’ll be okay.”

“Promise?” The voice is so unlike the Simmons she knows, it’s weak and small, childlike almost. Daisy can’t find the will to do anything but reassure it. 

“Yeah, I promise. If anyone can get out of this alive, it’s Fitz.”

Another breath shudders through Jemma’s lungs under her palm but she can already feel the other girl putting herself back together, getting ready for the next fight. Daisy hopes to the stars, to the heavens that she’s not sure if she believes in, that her words do not sour to lies.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to figure out a spec piece for where the rest of the season might go so let me know if you'd be interested in that, and what you thought of this, in the comments as always. If you want to chat I'm always on tumblr over @sinkingsidewalks. Thanks for reading!


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